PS 3531 
A55 L6 
1906 



llUMWUUWUUUWMWUM, 



LOMGIMG 



AND 



OTHER POEMS 



EUGENIA 
PARHAM 





Class TS 3 1 II 

Book^A5AJUL__ 



GoipghtN»___liOA_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




EUGENIA PARH AM, 



LONGING 

AND OTHER POEMS 


By 
EUGENIA PARHAM. 


Cincinnati : 
JENNINGS AND GRAHAM 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received -r->/-^ 

NOV 5 1906 r^ 3-631 







CLASS 



COPY B. / 



iftpyrtent Entry . 

5S A XXCNO. * r\ -'-^ V-i^ 



\qot^ 



1 



COPYRIGHTED I906 
BY EUGENIA PARHAM. 



In Grateful and Loving Remembrance 

This Little Volume to 

MY BEST FRIENDS— MY STUDENTS 

Still Moved by the Double Motive 
OF Wishing to Impart a Ben- 
efit AND Longing to Wear 
their Affection to the 
End of the Day 



Across the years that Time has spun, 
And all the ivays our feet ha've run 
Since those old days in luhich ^ive sat 
And questioned much, of this and that 
From poet, priest and seer and sage 
Of many a clime and many an age, — 
Through distance dim, by land and sea, 
Dear faces still smile up at me, 
Familiar, nvhere all else is strange. 
Unchanged, amid a ivorld of change. 

And smiling thus, they siveetly keep 

My heart in touch nvith God's great, deep. 

Round avorld, ivhose starry-purpled rim 

Of hill and sky lead back to Him. 

And ivhen our journeyings here ha've passed 

That far-off shore-line blue and a^ast, 

I pray that these, my faces fair. 

May greet me in that Otheriuhere. 



INDEX 

Page 

Longing, 9 

The Heart's Plea, ii 

Uncoxquered, ... 12 

Charity, 13 

The Philosopher, 15 



August, 



7 



By the Evening Fire, 18 

On the Road to Emmaus, 21 

The Egoist, 23 



The Altruist, 



24 



Asleep, 25 

Voices, 27 

The Silent Land, 29 

Fate, 31 

A Happy Woman, 32 

A Day, 34 

Indian Summer, 35 

In Bohemia, 36 

Night, 38 

5 



INDEX. 

Page 

A Forest Romance, 40 

Faith, 42 

The Heights Beyond, 44 

Parting, 46 

October, 47 

A Curl, 48 

The Tennessee, 50 

Who Keeps thr City? 53 

Overruled, 54 

A Song for the Brave, 56 

Going to the Reunion, 58 

The Sign Post, 61 

The Cricket on the Hearth, 63 

Bereft, 65 

A Memory, 66 

Insufficiency, 67 

Ten, 69 

Consolation, . . . ; 71 

His Lessons, 72 

Our Royalty, 73 

He Cares, 74 

Cleburn at Chickamauga, 75 

In the Silent City, 78 

Saturday Night, 80 

The Dreamer, 81 

The Main Chance, 83 

Where I Found Him, 84 

6 



INDEX. 

Page 

Emancipation Day, 85 

The Old-Fashioned Mother, 87 

My Birthday, 89 

Two Legacies, 91 

Mysteries 93 

The Boys in Gray, 94 

Under the Willows, 96 

Beside the Way, 98 

Her Majesty, 99 

Incompleteness, loi 

The Gray, 103 

A Frozen Rose, 105 

A Prayer, 107 



LONGING. 

It lives in the blush of the rose, 
It glides in the stream as it flows 

Forever, forever away; 
It surges and lashes and sweeps 

Through ocean billows gray, 
And dreams on the tide as it creeps 

And ebbs in the land-locked bay. 

It croons in the storm ; it flits 
In the lightning gleam, and sits 
Snow-capped on the mountain crest ; 
It shines in the light of the star 

And flames in the robin's breast ; 
Through all the silence vague and far 

Goes on the ceaseless quest. 

From the shades of our human despai 
It calls us to heights of prayer, 
9 



Past fear and doubt and dread ; 
It wakes in the world-weary sigh, 

A paean of hope instead ; 
It laughs in the baby's eye, 

It smiles from the face of our dead. 

Over all our changing way, 
Through all our little day 

From the sunrise to the sod ; 
In the sorrow or joy that breaks 

Under fortune's smile or its rod. 
An infinite something still speaks 

Our eternal kinship with Ood. 



lO 



THE HEART'S PLEA. 

Let 's quit this worry and care and fret 

About the things that we can not get ; 

And these old ambitions, let 's leave them, 

too, 
And laugh and love as we used to do 
Before we had pledged our better self 
To the graceless striving for place and pelf. 

Let 's lay our vain pretensions by — 
The world 's not fooled, nor you, nor I ; 
These make-believes of fancied show 
Appease us not; our hearts must know 
The voiceless longing, the weary stress 
Behind the rubbish we call success. 

What 's wealth but a thing to cheat at last 
The soul that enshrines and holds it fast? 
What gain in power, to strut and vaunt 
Above our fellows? All we want 
Or e'er shall want from God or men 
Is just to love — and be loved again. 
II 



UNCONQUERED. 

Yes, I have fought and bled ; 

Have fought ofttimes and lost; 
Have seen the field strewn with the up- 
turned dead 

Of what I loved the most. 
I know how to relinquish all, and then 

Unarmed to stand before the foe ; 
The emptiness, the grief, the bitter pain 

Of sure defeat, I know. 
And though no victor's crown shall e'er be 
mine, 

Nor ever a laurel wreath, 
I am no coward; I do not fear to sign 

With life or death : 
Assured alone the cause is right, 

I only ask to be allowed to stand 
Among the common ranks of men, 

And in the common struggle at the end 
Fall, but to cheer the fight. 

12 



CHARITY. 

We can not judge another's thought or way 
By any guidance we have felt or known ; 

Time treads on all — we journey as we may, 
In paths we have not chosen as our own. 

We lift our eyes in widely differing sight, 
Our hands we stretch in widely differing 
need; 

The thing that one sufficeth as a light, 
May still another into darkness lead. 

One stands secure, where nobler ones have 
failed, 
And falls where meaner ones have stood 
secure ; 
The victories one triumphs in, entailed 
Upon another some defeat as sure. 

Our fallen brother, as we pass him by. 
Is what we might have been — we can not 
know 

13 



What virtues under all his vices lie, 

Nor what the struggle that cost his over- 
throw. 

Each life has its full measure of unrest ; 
Grief gnaws alike through famine and 
through fame. 
Ah, World ! well may we pity even the best, 
And spare the worst our censure and our 
blame. 



14 



THE PHILOSOPHER. 

Keep courage, Old Man. No need 
To whine 
Nor repine 
Because you have failed to succeed. 
If the cloud 's in your sky, 
And your world 's gone awry, 
Do n't sit down and cry, 
But just set your eye 
On the goal and try 
What power there may be in grit 
To endure — to endure: 
And Friend, be sure 
Always to keep courage — do n't quit. 

Just hold up your head, my Friend. 
There 's a way 
And a day 

15 



In wliich all these troubles will end. 
With faith and a prayer 
Honest labor to share, 
Why, look up and dare 
Misfortune and care 
To drag a man down to the pit: 
With God overhead, 
Don't be afraid. 
But keep courage, Old Man, and do n't quit. 



i6 



AUGUST, 

The air is filled with soft, sweet-cadenced 
sound 
That trails and winds through every 

shrub and tree, 
And kisses with a clinging touch the lea, 
As it were hymning praises to the ground 
For its full offering of fruits new-found : 
The farm-boy's halloo echoes far and free 
Across the wood, his heart's wild melody ; 
The lark's high song, attuned to all around, 

Keys the rich orchestra of bird and bee 
And flower and stream ; the breezes, thin 
and rare, 
Sway into rhythm, joining the minstrelsy 
Of earth and sky ; the very Silence there. 
But yesterday a low, unsounding sea. 
Awakes and throbs divinest harmony. 
2 17 



BY THE EVENING FIRE. 

O blessed rest ! To feel the day 

And its worn struggles slip away, 

Its busy cares dimmed out of sight 

By the ruddy gleam of my hearthstone 

bright; 
While I, within my armchair curled, 
Unloose my soul — shut out the world — 
And rest, and so rest on, content 
To watch the pictured wonderment 
Of bursting bud and flushing bloom 
And fair face breaking through the gloom 
Upon the wall, to smile and glow 
And bring again the long-ago. 

The long-ago ! Who would forget ? 
Not you, who vain ambitions fret, 
Nor you, who cringe for mammon's spoil ; 
Not you, who win your bread by toil ? 
i8 



Not I — nor they — whose better part 
Is just the treasures of the heart: 
And so to-night I Hst and lean 
To catch the music glad between — 
Hand-clasps and loves and laughter sweet, 
The spell of words, the sound of feet. 
The long, long light of tender eyes, 
Glimpsing my two eternities. 

The fire, a conjurer might be. 
So deft it shifts the scenes for me — 
A flowery lane, a meadow gay, 
A strip of wood, a brook at play, 
A flock of white clouds drifting by 
Like hosts from out God's angelry, 
And summers lapsed in singing joy 
To match in heart a truant boy. 
I see a footpath round a hill, 
And children wandering at will 
Where alders bloom and elm-trees throw 
Their cool, deep shadows dark below, 
Unmindful, till a dinner-horn 
Divides the afternoon from morn. 
19 



The then and now, God's love-Hght blends 
About me here. What storm He sends 
Is but a part of that old day 
With which He blessed my ^childhood's 

play; 
For one is by me, very near, 
Who shapes my dreams ; and low and clear 
1 hear her voice, as soft she sings 
My babe — and me — to better things ; 
O, well I know that that we love 
Is what we make our heaven of, 
And mine, however far or wide, 
Is here around my fireside. 



20 



ON THE ROAD TO EMMAUS. 

On the road to Emmaus, 

Swift stumbling down the plain, 
The lonely sunset marking 

Our three-days' faith, now slain ! 
Back there in Jerusalem 

The shadows darkly loom 
On ruined hopes — on Calvary, 

And aye the sealed tomb. 

On the road to Emmaus — 

What matters ? Anywhere, 
To hide away our sorrow 

And our black despair. 
The veil is rent in the temple ; 

And our eyes are hot and dry 
With looking to voiceless heaven, 

And vainly asking why. 

21 



We sang our hallelujah 

In the purple-waking morn, 
Then drained the dregs to the bitter 

Ere ever the morrow was born : 
And now in the dusk of evening 

We come — outworn and late ; 
Our unmanned hosts are scattered, 

Our sacred is desecrate. 

On the road to Emmaus — 
Why, One has come to greet. 

And journey down the night with us ! 

And sit with us at meat ! 
'O gracious Guest! The Master 

Has walked our way beside ! — 

Our grief is now our holy, 
Our cross is glorified. 

We may not sink in the byways 
Or the vale of craven rest ; 

But back to the thick of the human 

With the strong ranks, breast to breast ! 

Away, again to the mountain ! 
Through the middle watch of the night 

Thrice armed are we for battle — 
Ours is no losing fight. 

22 



THE EGOIST. 

And life at best 

Is vague unrest, 
A shadow ever moving; 

A little care, 

A little prayer, 
A little hopeless loving. 

A breath of light 

Blown through the night, 
Intangible and fleeting; 

The sum of years 

Is in our tears, 
Our parting and our meeting. 

And some sad day 

We pause and say 
We 're tired of its keeping; 

A little sigh, 

The world goes by, 

And leaves us to our sleeping. 

23 



THE ALTRUIST. 

A hail ! Ahoy ! 

A burst of joy, 
Triumphant through all striving; 

To right a wrong, 

To sing a song 
Is guerdon for our living. 

A trail of light 

Struck through the bright. 
High world of love's endeavor; 

Away with tears ! 

There are no years, 
Love only knows forever ! 

And some new day, 

Beside the way 
We catch a signal forward : 

A little smile — 

Good-bye, awhile — 
Earth-clipt, we speed on starward ! 
24 



ASLEEP. 

(In the National Soldiers' Cemetery, near 
Nashville.) 

Here where the lingering sumbeams lightly 
stray, 
And soft winds softer murmur as they 

blow, 
And woodland echoes mellowed, fainter 
grow, 
And the blue skies, caressing bend and 

sway. 
As they were kissing earth in reverent way ; 
Where dreamy shadows, quivering, come 

and go 
In dreamy lengths upon the graves below, 
And round the silent marbles trembling 
play; 

25 



Where Nature loves through all the year 
to set 
Her sweetest thoughts ; where, 'neath her 
magic hand 
The flowers blossom and the frosts forget, 
Lie the Nation's honored dead. O fallen 
band, 
Sleep well — in Blue or Gray! No soldier 
yet 
Has ever slept within a fairer land. 



26 



VOICES. 

Listen, listen to the Earth, 
Singing of her myriad birth, 
Sighing of her myriad death, 
Telhng in each wave and breath 

Evermore how Hfe doth press 
Against all life with beating heart. 

Giving still some sweet redress 
In the hope it would impart. 

Yonder sounds the wood-dove's note 
Lonely from his hidden cote ; 
And the skylark, up among 
Clouds of azure, trills his song 
Like a burst of praise and prayer 
Pouring music everywhere. 

Drowsily the cattle stray, 
Browsing where the sunbeams play ; 

2^ 



Teeming fields of golden grain 
Whispering of sun and rain ; 
Woodlands crooning in the breeze, 
Meadows calling to the bees, 
All in chorus now rehearse 

The anthem of creation's past — 
The mystery of the universe. 

That shall the universe outlast. 



28 



THE SILENT LAND. 

O Silent Land ! 
Where liest thou — in what calm sphere, 
So hushed away from listening mortal ear, 
That faintest voice nor heart-throb echoes 

back, 
Nor softest footstep wakes along thy track 
Of all the broken, human band 
ihat once hath touched thy shadowy strand t 

OLand! OLand! 
Of all our sweetest dreams and songs ! 
Thy silentness our yearning but prolongs; 
What peaceful barks to thee have drifted 

o'er? 
What stranded wrecks have dashed against 

thy shore? 
No answer ! Never a white-ribbed sail 
To signal back our eager hail. 
29 



Deep, Silent Land ! 
With thy distant, soul-strewn border-shore, 
What longings and what hopes for ever- 
more 
Around thee cling! And simple faith must 

still 
The ancient pledge of God to man fulfill. 
And trust that in the end a Hand 
Will bring us to thy rest, O Land ! 



30 



FATE. 

I love you. No power in earth or heaven 
Can blot that out. And tl7'>ngh I say it nay 
A thousand times through every passing 

day, 
A thousand times through every new night 

given, 
It still is true. As if a bolt were riven 
Through that one thought, it flashes o'er the 

way 
Of all the universe : it seems to play 
Through every tone of earth, by Nature 

driven ; 
The flowers and the grasses at my feet, 
The river's murmur and the ocean's beat 
Speak but the same. . All things, indeed, 

have run 
To these three words, "I love you," never 

done, 
But ever thanting on through space and 

time; 
It needs must be eternity's chief rhyme. 
31 



A HAPPY WOMAN. 

"I shall be happy!" she said, 
As she gathered the poppies v/hite and red ; 
*'I will pull the blue grapes over the wall, 
And sit in the shade and eat them all; 
And count the butterflies one by one, 
As they fly along in the morning sun, — 

I shall be happy !'' she said. 

"I shall be happy!" she said, 
As they placed the orange-wreath on her 

head ; 
"Life will be lovely and love will be true, 
I shall drink the wine without the rue ; 
I will share my joy with the poor and sad. 
And help to make the world more glad, — 
I shall be happy!" she said. 
32 



"I shall be happy!" she said,. 

And they strewed white lilies over her — 

dead. 
They closed the eyes and smoothed the hair, 
And one who stood there dropped a tear ; 
They folded the hands on the quiet breast — 
Poor empty hands — and what was the rest ? 
And she was happy ! I said. 



33 



A DAY. 

I come to you a gift from out God's past; 
Ancient of ancient, I shall forever last ; 
And yet, as fleeting as a baby's dream, 
To-morrow I shall be but what I seem — 
A little shred of being dimly done 
Between a rising and a setting sun ; 
A half-remembered melody of song, 
A burst of joy that lasted none too long ; 
A plighted faith, a broken vow, a sigh, 
A fitful hour beneath the purple sky 
Of pleasure ; or, maybe, a thousand years 
Of splendid victory — of toil and tears 
For duty's sake. Take me, I am yours to 

use; 
All that men long for is mine, and you may 

choose 
Your destiny — to wear the kingly crown 
That high endeavor wins, or play the clown, 
And with your cap and bells and painted 

face 
Mimic the ring, the ignoble of your race. 
34 



INDIAN SUMMER. 

The days come faint and sweet from out 

their far, 

Dim nowhere, sHpping over earth as Hght 

As dreams across the tired sleeper's sight, 

And like them leaving shadowy forms that 

are 
But hints of soul-life hid behind the bar 
Of conscious thought. The autumn forest 

bright 
Holds motionless its painted memories, quite 

Content to lose no tint of sun or star 
From all its past; while over wood and 

heath 
And shining river hangs a soft mist-wreath 
Of silence vague; the clouds are still; and 

high 
Above is poised the hushed expanse of sky ; 
Sound drifts, and dies away — and every- 
where 
The world is quiet in a wordless prayer. 
35 



IN BOHEMIA. 

Stragglers we, from the ranks of men, 
Pausing to-day to rest — but then, 
To-morrow some other spot as well, 
May serve as a place in which to dwell; 
We have bread to win, and an Art to hold, 
And between these two there is little gold. 

We are used to wandering — our attic eaves 
Are changed as often as springtime leaves ; 
We like high life — select, you know, 
To look down on the world below ; 
Not much to eat, not much to wear, 
But so the better, not much to care. 

We own the earth, the sea, and the sky, 
And music and poetry dwell hard by ; 
The winds come to us in measured bars, 
And our familiar friends are the stars ; 

36 



For the rest, we dream we are monarchs — • 

see? 
And to dream for the time is just to be. 

We have our joys — our griefs, alas ! 
And griefs gnaw deep — but let that pass : 
We look through tears into other eyes, 
And read the sweetest of life's surprise, 
And sorrows are soothed away in part 
By the touch of a hand, the throb of a heart. 

Oh a hand-touch ! A heart-throb ! — not un- 
derstood. 

The unexplained mystery of onr best good — 

Bids us grope in the darkness, believing 
it light, 

And trust the unseen as the surest of sight ; 

Bids us struggle in smiles, through doubt 
and fear, — 

And so we are happy, in Bohemia here. 



37 



NIGHT. 

O, solemn, shadowy Thing ! 

Earth's mystery subHme! 
Thou holdest beneath thy wing 

The majesty of Time. 

The music of the stars 
Is struck by thee alone; 

Creation's notes and bars 
Attuned about thy throne ! 

Old Ocean's tidal-waves 
Come at thy beck and call — 

Some magic in thee laves 
The mightiest of all. 

To thee 't was given to see 
The great event of earth — 

Under thy stars and thee 

Was cradled a Savior's birth ! 

38 



The wonder-world of Thought 
Unbends beneath thy power ; 

Her grandest dreams are wrought 
Within thy deepest hour. 

Thy silence and thy dark, 
Lonely companions twain, 

The bounds of ages mark 
In Heaven's divinest strain. 

And yet, in heaven, they say 
Thou shalt not ever be, 

No night shall break the day 
Of that eternity. 

No Night ! But face to face 
With all the things that be ! 

Star-wheeling over space, 
We then shall know and see ! 



39 



A FOREST ROMANCE. 

Sweet- William was a forester 
With something of renown ; 

In tangled wildwood, bHthe and free, 
He dwelt remote from town. 

But still his heart kept longing 
For a gentle floweret rare, 

Who grew behind old trellised walls 
In a city garden fair. 

And so he went a-wooing 
All on a bright spring day, 

Dressed in his very Sunday-best, 
This woodland prince of May. 

He boldly scaled the frowning gate, 

All dangers else defied, 
And won the sweet Miss Violet 

To be his sylvan bride. 
40 



And straightway she forsook her state, 

To wander far with him 
By hill and glen and forest glade 

And winding river rim. 

And still in quiet valleys, 

On sun-kissed moorlands gray, 

In brambly heaths, up purple peaks, 
These happy lovers stray. 

Telling to earth-born children, 
From out the rime and dew, 

How every spot is beautiful 
If only love be true. 



41 



FAITH. 

My times are in Thy hand, O Lord ! 

I know not how nor why, 
Nor whence nor where ; I trust Thy word 

To guide me with Thine eye ; 
To lead me where still waters flow, 

Or where the rocks are steep; 
I 'm safe to follow Thee, I know, 

Though oceans round me sweep. 

My times are in Thy hand, O Lord ! 

Whate'er of shade or shine 
Thou givest me, I know Thy word 

Of promised love is mine; 
To make the bright but brighter still. 

To bid the tempest cease, 
And every depth of gloom to fill 

With Thy mysterious peace. 
42 



Aly times are in Thy hand, O Lord, 

To Hmit or extend; 
'T is thine to wake the sleeping chord, 

Or bid its music end ; 
*T is Thine to give, withhold or take, 

As seemeth Thee the best — 
I stretch out pleading hands — Oh make 

Me trust Thee for the rest ! 



43 



THE HEIGHTS BEYOND. 

There are grander heights beyond, O 

Friend ! 
Why pause we in the valley's trend ? 
Far through the distance of our way 
I look to where the star-gleams play. 

'T is true we 're tired — we scarce can smile, 
We have journeyed such a weary while ; 
We have hurt our hearts and scarred our 

hands 
In toil God only understands. 

We fain would rest ; we long for dreams 
In which our struggling vaguely seems ; 
We are loth to leave our hard-earned plain, 
But there are grander heights to gain. 

What mind we of our bruised feet? 
Are not all noble things, and sweet, 
44 



High-set, that chnibiiig in their quest 
The best alone may win the best? 

The Httle triumphs we have known, 
The victories we lean upon 
Were meaner failures, if we fail 
Those grander heights above to scale. 

Then up ! though rugged be the steep, 
And wild the winds that round us sweep! 
To linger here were Howard's ease — 
There are grander heights, O Friend, than 
these ! 



45 



PARTING. 

Soft, soft, O Light ! 

Fall soft to-night, 
And touch earth with your sweetest kiss; 

No other day 

To us, alway. 
Can bring and be the same as this. 

O, dim and far 

As yonder star 
The future stretches to our eyes; 

Still hold us here, 

We would not peer 
Just yet into its strange surprise. 

O Evening, sweet. 

Still stay our feet; 
Last, last a little longer yet; 

In vain would be 

Eternity, 
Could we the thought of thee forget. 
46 



OCTOBER. 

Now comes the Autumn's prime in splendid 
dress, 
Bespangled rich with chosen gems, more 

dear, 
Because mementoes of a vanished year 
On which oblivion soon shall press ; 
Flowers, rare with the breath of June, nor 
less 
In beauty than the brilliant summer's 

clear, 
Bright bloom, are scattered far and near, 
As treasured relics of past loveliness; 

Upon the wooded hills some painter gay 
Has left a thousand pictures of the time. 

Wherein his fancy reveled in the May 
Of its sweetest love-dream ; a pantomime 
Of olden memories, fitful seems to play 
About the earth, of every age and clime. 
47 



A CURL. 

I sit with a bright, gold curl in my hand — 

A gleam from the sunshine straying — 
I press out the dainty silken strand 
Whose owner is owned by another Land, 
Where the sunlight forever is playing. 

And I wonder why the voiceless thing 
Has been treasured so long in my keep- 
ing— 
What unseen power in the tangled ring 
I know not — but thro' it the angels sing, 
• And over it the world is weeping. 

I sometimes have thought it was foolish to 
hold 
Such a scrap of the love of my loving, — 
Just a hint of the form that the years enfold. 
Now hushed away like a tale that is told, 
Or a harp-string that broke in the prov- 
ing. 

48 



But humanity, the same in whatever dime, 

These still, faded relics is keeping; 
Human hearts cannot change for the sake of 

a rhyme. 
Human love cannot die, though its dream 
for all time 
Beneath marble and moss may be sleep- 
ing. 

And I feel what it is to keep faith with the 
past. 
And faith in the beauty of heaven, 
When I think how these curls are but chains 

overcast 
With the gold of a memory holding us 
fast- 
God's chains, that can never be riven ! 



49 



THE TENNESSEE. 

From laureled height and haunted glen, 

Past vales and meads of flowers, 
Our river, rippling on as when 

It threaded Indian bowers, 
Still tells of hearts that dwell beside 

Its waters seaward tending, 
Of love, outreaching far and wide, 

And evermore unending. 

It brings to us old heart-worn lays. 

Quaint gems of song and story ; 
Recalls the hymn of peaceful days 

And the dirge of war-fields gory ; 
It sings of many a romance true, 

And many a deed of duty. 
Of poet lives that never knew 

The outward guise of beauty. 
50 



And murmurs on of hills and greens, 

Through which its windings wandered, 
Of waterfalls where crystal sheens 

Like our young hopes are squandered. 
Of forest cot and palace home, 

And church-spire skyward pressing, 
Of mountain-tops, whose awful gloom 

Is bathed in heaven's caressing. 

The miner's shout, the woodman's song, 

The hunter's glad halloo, 
Its silvery waters still prolong, 

Its banks resound anew. 
The fisher's boat floats lightly on 

Beside the steamer plying; 
The song and prayer of all, as one, 

God's peace is prophesying. 

Its gentleness rebukes our strife. 

Its calmness stills our longing — 
O Man, to man this little life 

Is hardly worth the wronging ; 
Better the wealth of kindly hearts 

Than gold of power's upbuilding, 
The light of lowly homes, than marts 

Of ambition's costly gilding. 
51 



And Thou, our Shining Stream, we ask, 

Still let thy rhythmic measure 
Beguile our hearts in every task 

To make all duty pleasure ; 
And journeying to the great white sea, 

God grant, our lives possessing 
Like Thine, the calm of Galilee, 

Shall end like Thine in blessing. 



52 



WHO KEEPS THE CITY? 

If lips but spake the thoughts that in the 

heart 
Lie folded close from human voice apart, 
What freight of sorrow through the still 

moonlight 
Would break in sobs of grief, the peace of 

night ! 



53 



OVERRULED. 

We look into to-morrow, and we dream 
We see its hours swift-winged with glad- 
voiced cheer 
Of happiness long-sought, and faintly 
hear 
The imagined sound of melodies, which 

seem 
To float triumphant to our human realm ; 
But when the night has passed, unto our 
ear 
Come tones faint-touched, from chords no 

mortal seer 
Has heard; and through the strange, new 
day there gleam 
Visions of things we had not planned nor 
known ; 

54 



New forms, new faces greet us where the 
old 
Were wont to be; and where yesterday 
shone 
Our dearest love-Hght, all is gray and cold ; 
Among the shadows of our dreams, 
alone 
We sit and read the tale to-day has told. 



55 



A SONG FOR THE BRAVE. 

Aye, Puritan son, thou art true to thy blood ! 
With thy hand on thy blade, as thy father 
of old, 
Thou dost stand for the rights of the race, 
as he stood. 
As fearless, as bold. 
What matter that weeds in thy furrow may 
grow, 
And rust on thy plow ? 
There be those that toil for God and men. 
Even as thou. 

What shalt thou reap? The anguish of 

pain, — 
A grave, no doubt, in a distant land, 
Unwept, unsung, save the funeral strain 
Of thy comrade band, 
56 



And the tears of her who gave thee birth 

And fired thy heart 
With the ancient courage of thy clan 

To do thy part. 

Ignoble the peace by cowards won ! 

When duty's call is heard on high, 
Love's armies fear nor sword nor gun, 

Though some should die ! 
Then hold the field, thou valiant van, 

Thy bugle sound 
Until its notes of freedom ring 

The earth around ! 



57 



GOING TO THE REUNION. 

lyucy, bring my old gray coat, 

And dust it up a bit ; 
I'm not as stout as I used to be, 

But I think that it will fit. 
The boys are goin' to make a raid 

Up here on lyouisville ; 
I kind o' want to join 'em, 

And I 've decided that I will. 

Yes, it 's gettin' pretty old — 

Nearly forty years, I guess. 
Since your mother cried and put it away 

In that old cedar press. 
Tom and Jim went with me — 

It was mighty hard, 3^ou see. 
For only one to kiss her, 

When she 'd said good-bye to three. 

58 



But Jim, you know, at Bull Run, 

Stayed in the front all day — 
At night, among the heaps o' dead, 

Out on the field he lay. 
And Tom and me, we still fought on — 

I tell you, he was brave — 
But the second day at Gettysburg 

I helped to make his grave. 

It was lonesome to me after that, 

With both the boys gone; 
But I had no time for grievin'. 

For Lee kept marchin' on. 
I followed him for two more years, 

Through battles thick and thin. 
Till at last at Appomattox 

Our ranks was clean hemmed in. 

An' so we were told to surrender — 

I reckon' 't was just as well — 
But if Lee had given the order 

We 'd a fought till the last man fell. 
They said we was whipped, but we was n't ; 

The truth is, we had no men; 
We 'd worn 'em out a-whippin' 

The Yankees over again. 
59 



And though we left Virginia 

Red with battles that were done, 
The North never had a victory 

While Lee's men had a gun. 
We talk about the ''Lost Cause," 

But I do n't think it was lost ; 
For each side knows that what was gained 

Was less than what it cost. 

And now when I think about it 

I have n't got any spite ; 
The North and the South both found at last 

That might can't conquer right. 
As brothers we 've had our quarrels, 

As brothers we '11 have 'em yet ; 
But we 've each learned to know the other 

In a way we '11 not forget. 

So brush out the wrinkles, Lucy; 

I 'm goin' on dress parade ; 
I want to hear the roll-call 
Once more of the old brigade. 
There w^on't be many — the Earthworks 

Are about all left unmanned, 
For the General and most of his army 

On Heaven's battlements stand. 
60 



THE SIGN-POST. 

I stop and read with thoughtful eyes 
The sign-post standing grim and gray ; 

I read it once with strange surprise 
That it should mark so long a way. 

Twenty miles to L . It seems 

Not very distant ; yet I 've been 

A weary way, and in my dreams 
Full many a city I have seen. 

I wonder where the children are 

Who played with me that summer morn, 

They must have wandered very far — 
There are no footprints in the corn. 

I mind me of a merry band 

Who tracked the dust beside the road. 
With trailing daisy-chain in hand — 

Are they hid over in that wood? 
6i 



Nay, I remember ; one by one 

Their questioning eyes the sign-post saw, 
And one by one when play was done 

They followed nature's Westward law. 

The children are all gone — ah, me! 

Their songs make music otherwhere; 
The daisy-chains are dead ; and we 

Can weave no others half so fair. 

Well, well, we had not learned the truth 
Writ dimly 'neath that lettered sign; 

How ;could we know, so full of youth 
That twenty miles beyond that line, 

Would take us far away from home 

Into the busy world, — but then 
A million miles, howe'er we come 

Could never lead us home again ? 



62 



THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH. 

Most constant of my trusted friends, 
This small, black-coated fellow lends 
Himself and voice, my hearth to cheer, 
Through all the seasons of the year. 
No hireling, he — he takes no wage 
From me or mine, but blithe and sage 
He dwells beneath my roof, content 
To have no thought of tax or rent. 

A squatter sovereign — his little world 
Within my chimney ramparts curled, 
Is world enough for him. No doubt 
He has his problems to work out. 
Problems ancient as the flood. 
Domestic cares of clothes and food — 
But when the twilight falls, his song 
Across my hearth rights many a wrong. 

His tender, reminiscent strain 
Wakes sacred memories in my brain, 
63 



And stirs the smouldering back-log's light 
Of an old fireside, where faces bright 
With love are ranged. And clear and quick 
I hear the knitting-needles click, 
And laughter soft and voices dear 
Now^ hushed away for many a year. 

A socialist, by birth and fame : 
Where Civilization stakes her claim, 
And lifts her smoke- wreath to the sky 
To mark her altar fires, hard by 
His modest domicile he sets 
And all his wanderings there forgets. 
The while he chants the faithful hymn 
That waked creation's twilight dim. 

O tranced Singer ! Small the need 
Of pulpit-voice to forge thy creed — 
The day in patient labor spent. 
At evening, in thy low-pitched tent. 
Whatever skies may flash or swell. 
Cheerily thou sayest, "All is well." 
If loud the storm, thy song the more 
Breaks tranquil through its wildest roar. 



64 



BEREFT. 

When suddenly there passes from your sight 
And from the hfe around you some swe'et 

face 
Which you have looked to as the ideal 
grace 
Of your best being, and the guiding light 
Of each and every common day and night, 
By which to measure your ambition's 
pace, 
Your soul's high aims, your hopes for 
nobler v/ays, 
Your love of truth, your purer sense of right 
And better faith in men ; and when missed 
so. 
You realize, that as the years unfold 

You shall not meet it in the ebb and flow 
Of all the human faces, nor behold 

It in your loneliest hour, then you may 
know 
How great a void so small a world may 
hold. 
5 65 



A MEMORY. 

A tangle of mosses in shaded dells, 
Where clear, cool water, gurgling wells. 
And a silvery, wandering stream, deep-set 
Where the rocks and grasses its ripplings 

fret, 
And green-hung hills and blue, bent skies 
Folding the world in a sweet surprise, 
And a rocking boat in the dancing spray — 
Ah, whither? No matter — together, that 

day! 



66 



INSUFFICIENCY. 

Life comes and goes. 

Stands still, and flows 
In smooth or ruffled measure; 

We stretch out hands, 

But iron bands 
Hold back the longed-for treasure. 

We grasp, we cling — 

Some unseen thing 
With strange and subtle power. 

May make or mar, 

May give or bar 
Possession in the hour. 

And well-planned days 

In other ways 
Than ours are ever tending ; 

The threads we spin 

Are woven in 
With undreamed patterns blending. 
67 



But baffled still 
In wish and will, 

Accepting or resigning. 
We yet shall know 
God wrought it so. 

In over-love designing. 



68 



TEN. 

Well, and so you are ten to-day? 
Ten ! And where is the baby, then, I pray ? 
Ten by your fingers and ten by your toes, 
So that 's the way our baby grows ! 

Why, only yesterday, it seems to me. 
We were teaching the baby a, b, c ; 
And, "Th'ee little mice sat down to spin" — 
O, my! how the thought of it makes me 
grin. 

There were tales that the baby loved to hear 

As we sat in the twilight, very near 

And grew quite still— for 'twas dark, you 

know. 
And a great big owl might hollo, "to- 

whoo!" 

69 



There were yellow-jackets and bumble- 
bees 

And a lot of things that lived up the trees, 

And buzzed and screeched with a "chec, 
chee, chee," 

I'hat the baby was always wanting to sec. 

And an old brown toad that she liked to 

chase 
Every day about the place ; 
And so she never wanted to stop, 
For it made her laugh to see him hop. 

She broke the poppies and roses red, 
And showered the petals all over her head ; 
She pulled the grapes and kept busy all day 
At some sort of work that she thought was 
play. 

But that was long, O, long ago — 
Ten, did you say ? Why, it can't be so ! 
You M be gray-headed if that w^ere true, 
And I 'd be as old as Methuselah, too. 



70 



CONSOLATION. 
(After "Black Mammy.") 

'T ain't no use to be a-f rettin' 

'Bout de things that 's all gone wrong, 

'Cause de Lord, He am a-settin' 
In de heavens, good an' strong. 

He ain't got no notion leavin' 

L^s wid all dese troubles here ; 
So, honey, do n't you be a-grievin' 

While de Lord am takin' kere. 

Jes' you keep yo' face a-shinin' 

An' your heart right strong and true, 

An' you 'II see de silver linin' 

Of dem dark clouds breakin' through. 

You sho' do n't need to be a-weepin' 
At dis ol' world's frownin' face ; 

De Lord dat made it still am keepin' 
Watch from out His same ol' place. 

71 



HIS LESSONS. 

Learn your lesson, little boy ! 

Never mind the distant rim of the sky, 
Stop dreaming of paths across the hills, 

You shall go there by and by. 

Learn your lesson, young man ! 

Flinch not at the thunderbolts overhead ; 
Far up the crags is a sunlit crest — 

Hold steady the way you tread ! 

Learn your lesson, stalwart man ! 

Dark clouds are lowering on every side. 
The mountains shake — the storm is on ! 

And the world is weary and wide. 

Your lesson is done, old man ! 

You have fallen asleep on the fresh green 
sod. 
Dreamless at last in the rest that lies 

Out on the hills of God ! 



OUR ROYALTY. 

A day of majesty awaits us all, 

Crowned and sceptered. The King doth 

call! 
Silent attendants bending low 
At head and feet as they come and go. 

Dignity seated upon the face, 
A monarch's smile, a monarch's grace 
Of calm repose and stately air, 
The observed of all observers there. 

Ladies in waiting, and gentlemen, too, 
To do our bidding (though our biddings are 

few) ; 
Lords and lackies, with solemn face, 
And footmen to hand us to our place. 

A coach bedecked w^ith nodding plume, 
A procession, for which all else makes room. 
And people to pause and stand aside 
While we in our grandeur serenely ride. 
73 



HE CARES. 

Does He care for me, that nights are long, 
And days devoid of any song, 
That toihng, strugghng in Hfe's path, 
There beats on me the tempest's wrath? 
Is it aught to Him — these falHng tears, 
That mark the passing of my years ? 

Does He care for me, that there Hes hid 
My sweetest face 'neath a coffin-hd? 
That in the wilderness alone, 
I meet temptation, battling on, 
Or climbing in a weary quest, 
Look vainly still for any rest ? 

Why should I ask, "Is it aught to Him ?" 
Those days in Galilee, so dim, 
So full of toil, can He forget? — 
Can memory lose Mount Olivet ? 
Can Heaven shut out tliat night when He 
Knelt low in old Gethsemane? 
74 



CLEBURN AT CHICKAMAUGA. 

The day was all but lost, 
And a broken, tired host, 
In the setting of the sun. 
Looked across the dead and wounded 
To a battle well-nigh rounded 
Into defeat — when, lo ! there run 
Through cannon's roar, and shot and shell 
A strange, weird sound — the Rebel yell ! 
And wilder woke the din and jar, 
And louder clanged the notes of war 
Through forest glade and river glen 
At set of sun, when Cleburn's men 
Charged at Chickamauga. 

Onward they dashed to death ! 
Triumph in every breath — 
The challenge of the brave. 

75 



The muttering furies of disaster 
Hurled destruction fast and faster 
Into a mighty hving grave; 
Mangled horse and horseman heard, 
The dying caught the shout, and stirred ; 
Then victory changed its front — and then — 
The battle broke, w^hen Cleburn's men 
Charged at Chickamauga! 

Carnage reigned supreme ; 

Red ran the mountain stream, 
And the sky with smoke hung black ; 
A dauntless foe belched forth his thunder, 
While frenzied steel with steel clashed under 

And gave its deadly echoes back; 
Unwavering lines of heroes paid 
The patriot's debt to valor made, 
And glory wept her thousands slain 
On that dread field, when Cleburn's men 

Charged at Chickamauga. 

Night's pitying darkness crept 
Over the vale where slept 
A mingled mass of Blue and Gray 

76 



In a dreamless sleep forever, 
Close beside the peaceful river 
Winding onv^ard to the sea. 
Amid the solemn death-watch round, 
A valiant army held the ground ; 
Deep silence settled through the glen ; 
And Fame, that night— and Cleburn's men 
Camped at Chickamaugal 



11 



IN THE SILENT CITY. 

They are sleeping 

Without keeping 
Thought of vanished day or year, 

Never dreaming 

Of the seeming 
Shadows lying 'round them here. 

No one waketh, 

No one breaketh 
The deep silence spread around; 

Not a sorrow 

Of to-morrow 
Falls across their peace profound. 

They remember 

No December, 
And no summer roses fleet; 

World-hearts throbbing, 

World-hearts sobbing 
Cannot break their slumbering sweet 
78 



They shall never 

iMore forever 
lyook in vain for faces gone, 

Nor returning 

With soul-yearning 
Find loved places vacant — lone. 

All their roving 

And their loving 
Now is over, — hushed for aye, 

As a token 

Of unbroken 
Rest in a Land far away. 



79 



SATURDAY NIGHT. 

The twilight falls. A thousand hurrying 

feet 
Tread rhythmic on the darkening street; 
The restless tumult of the busy day, 
Now softer, fainter, dies away, 
As the world, grown weary of its worldly 

quest, 
Turns again homeward for loA-e and rest ; 
While over all, caressing, bend and beam 
The stars that looked on Eden's dream. 



80 



THE DREAMER. 

Swiftly past the world of strife, 
Far beyond the ills of life, 
Past the cares that veil the day 
And the fears that 'round it play, 
The dreamer, restless now no more, 
Pauses on an unseen shore. 

Pauses, and amid the song 

Of the souls that 'round him throng. 

Catches there the low refrain 

Of a gentler, truer strain 

Than bard or poet ever sung, 

Than ever thrilled on mortal tongue. 

The music of the inner heart. 
Where words and voices have no part 
Where never yet a note unstrung 
Back on the soul its discord flung, 
6 8i 



Where fair forms vanished, Hve again, 
And joys, that will not break in pain. 

Where love, unmindful of life's tears> 
Lives magical, without life's years; 
Where hand-clasps never are undone. 
And nothing 's lost that e'er was won, 
And where the dreamer and the dream 
Make real all the things that seem. 



82 



THE MAIN CHANCE. 

The sky 's held up its rim a bit 
To give the world more room, 

An' 1 hear the jaybird chantin' 
That the dogwood is in bloom. 

I can see the redbud laughin' 

At the ol' pine's solemn gloom ; 

It 's time to go a-fishin' 

For the dogwood is in bloom. 

Never mind the com-plantin' 
Nor the mortgage on the home, 

I '11 take my chance for livin' 
When the dogwood is in bloom. 

Leave the plow in the furrer, 
An' hang the gear in the shed ; 

Le' 's make off for the water — 
An' trust the Lord for bread. 
83 



WHERE I FOUND HIM. 

I could not find Him where I went, 
In creed, or chant, or organ strain ; 

I scanned the far-off firmament, 
And worlds and suns in vain. 

In vain where fortune shov/ered her gift, 
Where fame her laurel twined. 

In vain where marble piles uplift 
The hero's name enshrined. 

But in the depths of lowly toil 

Where Faith against Doubt held place, 

And thorns and tears were the victor's spoil, 
I met Him face to face. 



84 



EMANCIPATION-DAY. 

(After Black Mammy.) 

or ma'ster sho' done lost his min' 

'Bout dat procklermation ! 
Dat Mr. Lincum, what 's President, 

Do n't run dis here plantation. 

Come a-tellin' us dat we am free, 
An' sturbin' all de quarter — 

Nancy, 'f you do n' wash dem dishes up, 
I '11 make you think you oughter ! 

Thomas, go git dat wood, right now, 
'N stop dat hollerin' 'n bawlin' ! 

Jake, dem ho'ses got to be fed, 

'N dem rails oughter to be maulin'. 

No, I ain't gwine 'way fum dis place 
'N leave dese chillun cryin', 

What I wuz tol' to tek kere uv 
When or Miss wus a-dyin'. 
85 



Dis place am goin' to rack an' ruin 

While you niggers is foolin', 
Need n't think 'cause Ma'se gone off to town 

Nobody here is a-rulin'. 

Jeff, fotch dat co'n an' put in de crib ! 

Calline, git to yo' weavin'! — 
Hush, Honey, do n' you cry no mo', 

Mammy ain't thinkin' 'bout leavin'! 



86 



THE OLD-FASHIONED MOTHER. 

She had no gift of eloquence 

With orators to vie, 
She could not paint a daisy, 

However she might try ; 
No statue pose of marble 

That ever she might rear, 
No singer's song ineffable 

Broke on her listening ear. 

Naught knew she of the mysteries 

Of logic or of rhyme, 
Nor the voice of science ringing 

Through the corridors of time; 
And all unskilled in learning, 

Such as the schoolmen taught, 
With just the grace of motherhood 

Her homely tasks she wrought. 



But hers was noble sculpture 

As eye has looked upon, 
And music sweet as the sweetest 

That through old earth has run; 
Forth from her roof-tree lowly, 

Came sons and daughters brave 
In the strength and joy of a beauty 

That love and virtue gave. 

And hers the voice that fired them 
With home and freedom's name, 

And hers the hand that held the torch 
Which lighted them to fame. 

O mother, of that olden time. 

Lift up your face again, 
And cheer to thoughts and deeds sublime, 

Once more a world of men ! 



88 



MY BIRTHDAY. 
(August.) 

So you are my birthday, come back? Well, 

now, 
What 's the matter with you, anyhow ? 
What makes your sunshine look so sad? 
And your bird-songs — why,they once were 

so glad, 
They made me glad. And your flowers, too, 
Are not bright at all! and your sky is not 

blue! 

I would not know you since you have come 

back 
If I did not look in the almanac ; 
You seem like some old December day 
Slipped out by mistake — what 's that you 

say? 
"I am changed? I am not the same?" 
Why, indeed, you must have forgotten my 

name. 

89 



I 'm the very same girl that used to play 
And laugh and dance your hours away, 
And sing old songs with a merry glee 
From the swaying top of the cherry-tree ; 
And do n't you remember my parasol 
That I broke from the blossoming alder tall ? 

And the children — daisy-crowned brow and 

head, 
Making believe they were princes instead? 
And their voices? Ah, Day! that is why 

you are lotie ; 
You have lost their voices, their faces are 

gone ! 
O Day, you can never be glad any more 
When the children are wandering the wide 

world o'er. 



90 



TWO LEGACIES. 

Two sons from out two distant homes one 

day 
Went bravely forth, in Hfe to win a way. 

And one had wealth to shield him from 

rough cares, 
The other, poorer, took his mother's 

prayers. 

One found his way thick-strewn with roses 

sweet, 
The other trod on thorns with bleeding feet ; 

One sought and found high honors at his 

hand, 
One fought to gain a place whereon to 

stand. 

91 



One came at noon — wealth gone and roses 

dead ; 
One climbed serene, with sunshine 'round 

his head. 

One fell before temptation — all disarmed ; 
One stood amid life's dangers, still un- 
harmed. 



92 



MYSTERIES. 

I wonder what shape Larroes are? 

Nobody-else don't seem to know; 
They certainly can't live very far 

From Meddlers — ^they catch 'em so ! 

I know how Meddlers look, 'cause I 

Saw one once, when I waked in the night ! 

An' I jest pulled the cover up high, 
An' shet my eyes right tight! 

But the curiousest things of all, to me, 
Is Boogers that stan' aroun' an' keep 

Watchin' you, an' tryin' to see 

If you mind your Ma, an' go to sleep ! 



93 



THE BOYS IN GRAY. 

A song for the ranks of the Boys in Gray ! 
And what shall it be — or sad, or gay? 
No dirge, if you please, for boys like fun — 
Ho ! Music, there ! Let the band play on ! 

REFRAIN. 

And its "Forward, March! with a quick- 
step light. 
Before the gathering shades of night 
Shall call a halt for the last bivouac 
At the other end of the long, long track!" 

They are marching by with that steady 

tread, 
The foeman was wont to hear and dread : 
For battles won and battles lost, 
They have paid to the uttermost farthing the 

cost. 

94 



Now smiling they go through the fading 

years 
In laughter and love, not in sadness and 

tears. 
With the joy that the patriot only may know 
Who has stood by his race in its hour of 

woe. 

Not theirs to chide, not theirs to weep, 
But the brotherhood of men to keep, 
As they hasten on to the westward plain. 
Where reveille is calling the armies again. 

Their swords are all sheathed and their guns 
are at rest, 

And the sunlight streams bright on each 
silvery crest ; 

Away and away to the beautiful land. 

They are tramping to join the old com- 
mand. 

Then hail to the leader! And hail to the 

clan! 
And hail to the rear guard, pressing close 

on the van ! 
Our heroes of old — our heroes to-day ! — 
Three cheers, and all hail to the ranks in 

Gray 1 95 



UNDER THE WILLOWS. 

They drifted 'neath the willow boughs, — 
Two children at their play, — 

And laughed the while their sun-flecked 
brows 
Were kissed by dancing spray. 

Their tiny boats, with oars thrown by, 

Upon the tiny stream 
Waked swish and swash and fainter sigh 

And many a childish dream. 

They broke the twigs along the way, 
A crown for each bright head — 

Ah! many a crown in after day 
Was woven of thorns instead. 

They played as children, man and wife, 

And reared their castles fair, 
And day by day they mimiced Hfe, 

Without its thought of care. 
96 



They loved each other as they grew, 
But wideni-ng wave swept on ; 

They said good-bye, — alas! these two — 
And then their play was done. 

And so along Time's surging stream 
They stood at different prows — 

And both forgot that childish dream 
Beneath the willow boughs. 



97 



BESIDE THE WAY. 

I watched a child upon the mead, 

Among the flowers straying; 
"What seekest thou, Httle one?" I said, 
"O, nought," said she, and shook her head, 

"I 'm only just a-playing." 

In after years I met the maid 

Upon life's hill delaying; 
"Art playing still?" *'Why, no," she said, 
''Days darken, and the flowers are dead, 

And I — I 'm just a-straying." 



98 



HER MAJESTY, 
QUEEN 01^ the; united realm, defender oe 

THE FAITH^ AND EMPRESS OF HOME. 

Baby Mary, you have won my heart 
With the witching ways of your baby art; 
Your tiny fingers, with gentle skill. 
Have power to lead me where they will ; 
I am ready to walk, stand still or go. 
If your Baby Highness bid me so. 

Baby Mary, you are wondrous wise ; 
There are curious volumes writ in your eyes 
Of fairies and brownies and all such things 
About which the poet dreams and sings, 
And the hidden lore the magicians sought, 
And the science profound, the philosophers 
taught. 

99 
LOFC. 



Baby Mary, you 're a tyrant, too; 
You stamp your imperious little shoe, 
And pull the grapes and break the flowers. 
And make me waste my study hours 
In hunting butterflies and bees 
Among the clovers, as you please. 

But, Baby Mary, you have just one grace, 
Can rule the world and the human race ; 
It surpasses crowns and royal trains 
And all the gold of Ophir's plains ; 
You must have found it somewhere above — 
It is your sweet, compelling love. 



lOO 



INCOMPLETENESS. 

December days come gloaming in tRe sum- 
mer's dying gleams, 

Playing with its lights and shadows, toss- 
ing over vanished dreams, 

Twisting faded hopes and fancies into bro- 
ken memory sheaves, 

Painting buried forms and faces on the 
fallen autumn leaves. 

Crooning over song and story, half-forgot- 
ten many a day, 

Blowing into life dead ashes of the things 
long put away, 

Thrilling into newer beauty hill and plain 
and meadow white, 

Lying softly in the distance of our child- 
hood's fairer sight. 

lOI 



And we, longing, ever wistful wonder where 

the pathway lies 
That breaks away from our poor vision at 

the parting of the skies, 
Wonder why the longing vainly — why these 

dim forms half-revealed 
Evermore come thronging round us, yet 

are evermore concealed. 



I02 



THE GRAY. 

Ended the bivouac, 

The battle done, 
Folded the white tents 

Away from the sun ; 
Hushed the reveille, 

The champ and the neigh, 
Died out in the distance, 

The din and the fray. 

Furled the banner, 

Silent the drum, 
Peace-echoes forever 

Keep guard where they come ; 
Arms grounded — hearts softened, 

Old comrades at last 
Give greeting once more 

For a battle-fought past. 
103 



Broken ranks ? Ah, well ! yes- 
Speak it low, with a sigh, 

A remnant of men 
Who knew how to die ! 

Solemn and grand 
In that old suit of gray. 

They stand for our manhood, 
Our heroes, alway! 



104 



A FROZEN ROSE. 

Ha ! frozen Rose, why sittest thou there, 
So stark and stiff, with that royal air? 
A mockery, thou, of that sweeter state 
Of thy kindred fair ; thou earnest too late. 

The birds and the bees and the butterflies 
Have long since hid from our stormy skies ; 
As to perfumed blossoms, not one is nigh, 
Why, weeks ago they bade us good-bye ! 

And yet thou lookest majestic quite, 
With that crown of icicles gleaming white ; 
No princess ever wore such gems. 
Earthly hands never wrought such diadems. 

But what are those glittering things to thee ? 
Better thine own bright rose-life free ? 
These jeweled trappings of splendor so cold, 
Only the form of thy true self hold. 
105 



Not so! For there is thy heart, O Rose, 
And its freight of fragrance, the wide world 

knows ! 
No Season's blight, of storm or shine 
Can rob thee of that heart of thine ; 
Under sapphire skies or the ice-king's sheen 
Regal thou sittest in state, a queen. 



io6 



A PRAYER. 

O Lord, a world bow at Thy feet to-day, 
All pleading for some gift from out Thy 

hand ; 
I, too, come trembling, in Thy sight to 
stand, 
Content if I may touch Thy hem, and pray 
One little glance upon my devious way ; 
Not mine to ask if I may understand 
The path I tread : enough, 't is Thy com- 
mand. 
Not gold I beg, nor place, nor friends, nor 

fame, 
Not titled honors 'round a bauble name ; 
But, if in Thy great love, on one so low 
Thou wilt a pitying blessing still bestow, 
Over this strange, unresting soul of mine 
Pour out Thy peace, O Lord — Thy peace 
divine. 

107 



NOV 5 1906 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

018 407 230 



